The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1887-08-11
I'd you, dear; dead! dead! lost forever
to me! Alice! Alice! O my God, how

y Obvious to everything.
"Hug b." l cried, making determined
efforts to arouse him. "What is it.:
what can dol" Let mo help YOU"
Some tone in my voice seemed to
reach him. He turned toward me.
saying pitifully: "John, john" /
Lead him gently back to his chair.
Sinking YEARLY into it, he bowed his
face into hands and wept:.
All, no, it seemed more like the
shuddering cries from d wounded
heart than tears: I WINGED as every
dry sob was wrung from him. What
could do-what could I, say before
such sorrow as this? At last blum:
Aered out: Hugh, tell ME all about
it,"
AFTER awhile he looked UP, and see.
ing the intense sympathy written in
my lace that, manlike, lcould not put
into words, he silently reached out
his hand and laid it on mine. 1t was
only silent clasp, but it meant much
between men.
"John," he said hoarsely; could
scarce recognize the lazy, caressing
tones of an hour ago. II will tell you;
1T will help me some, only have pa
thence with me.''
He struggled out of his chair, and
paced the room as he spoke. Now
and then, as he passed the doorway,
he would gaze in IN agony of sorrow
at the beautiful pictured face smiling
down upon US. "You remember lust
before you started for France that l
was going out great deal in London
society,"" He did not wait for me to
answer, but continued: "Well, at one
OF the flower shows met her." Hugh
paused and gazed at the picture. For
the moment he could not 20 on.
Suddenly it burst upon mo where
had seen that face. A mass of plants,
the heavy odor OF flowers, the sway
ing crowds of people and sharply de-
fined against the dark green of the
magnificent palms, a young girl stand.
ing in all her dainty, high. bred beauty.
Yes, knew her now. Alice NARROW,
heiress and orphaned grand daughter
ofstern old Lady Harwood.
1T is the old story" continued NY
friend, sadly. II loved her madly,
and in time she grew to care Tor me,
actor though was. We both knew
that her grandmother would never
consent to marriage between US,
and Alice so dreaded to offend her.
You knew she brought Alice up from
little child and she cared COR her,
and was proud of her in her stern,
cold way. Then there was another
objection. The Harwood family were
all staunch Catholics, and l, q Prot.
estant. What could we do? 1 loved
her so madly that l would have given
everything in life to make her my
wife; but l was such a coward that 1
dared not tell her OF that mad mar
riage OF mine.'
20, Hugh" cried. II dared not,
John; l dared not; it might have driv-
en- hel from ME. Well, l must hurry
over my story, for it makes my heart
bleed to tell you the rest. After much
pleading on my part Alice at last con.
sented to q quiet marriage, l urging
that when her grandmother found she
had married me she would no doubt
forgive US. Under the plea of staying
with an old school friend, Alice came
to me and we were married in g. small
country town. Every day my wife"
here he paused and glanced at the
picture-'my wife. he repeated softly,
wished to write to her grandmother
and tell her all. Every day she put
it off until the next, and so two weeks
passed. Need 1 tell you who know
me SO we'll how madly happy I was?
1t seemed as if l could not thank God
enough for my happiness. How l
gloried in the thought she is my wife,
naught can part US but death. Poor
fool! How was I to know God had
given me happiness but to mock me?"
l started forward in my chair as
listened to the story so strange to me.
'Did she die?" I faltered. "Wait,"
he said slowly. 1T is soon told. Twas
sitting reading the papers one evening.
My wife had gone into another room,
and stood by the window watching
the falling snow falling so silently, SO
mercilessly. l could hear Alice sing
ing softly. Suddenly a presentiment
came to me of coming sorrow. 1
could not push it aside, or fix my
mind on the papers. After awhile it
seemed as if there was an evil influence
in the quiet room. l raised my eyes
in fear, though knew not what I
dreaded, and saw" Hugh's words
came in short, sharp gasps, and l
knew the agony it caused him to say
them. "Who?" l cried. "Annie
Graham, the woman l had married"
was stunned. She, whom we both
thought dead had come back to tor
ture him. "John, can you imagine
my feelings seeing that accursed wom-
an standing with her back against the
door smiling at me maliciously-the
blood seemed to freeze in my veins
my heart almost ceased to beat-in-
stantly saw all it meant to me, her
coming back from the grave. could
not for my life utter a word.
"Well,"' she said tauntingly. "This
is pretty sort of a welcome to give
your wife; but I suppose I ought not
to expect anything warmer, ought I?''
The sound of a voice not mine at
tracted Alice's attention. l could
hear the soft swish of q w0man's silk
gown as Alice moved toward the door.
could not speak, but watched, with
my hearts beat stopped, her coming,
coming nearer and nearer, out of the
darkened room beyond into the light,
until could see, first the soft gray OF
her gown, then the bare white neck
and lovely arms, the gleam of her
| golden hair. Then 1 reused myself
and made one mad effort to speak.
Mercy" was the one word that fell
from my lips. It was but a whisper,
yet it reached the woman, and she
laughed derisively as Alice stepped in
to the full light Of the room in her
brilliant young beauty.
"Pausing on the threshold Alice
gazed in mute astonishment at US
both. sank back with q groan and
covered my eyes. / could not face
what was to come. She knew in
stantly something was wrong, the
fear stamped on my face, the coarse
snowy woman regarding me with ma
licious triumph. Hugh Alice cried,
| and her soft voice had a sharp ring OF
fear: What is it? Oh, tell me what
it is?
Il could not, dared not speak. l
| sat there looking what was-a cow
a ri A. Loot hoard Annio Gro h q n,